


Doors, Wide Open

by moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 10:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14400585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr Dobson."A little glimpse into Abby and Bee, pre-canon.





	Doors, Wide Open

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on my Tumblr, a little appreciation of Abby and Bee because in my head they're totally besties :) I wrote this before I reread TFC and realised that Abby and Betsy were supposed to have met at college, so this is - an alternate version where they meet at Palmetto.

“Betsy Dobson,” she says, shaking Abby's hand in a firm grip. Rain is dripping off of Abby's frizzy hair, but Dr Dobson is dry, her giant umbrella held carefully away from her. She wears a neat grey coat and skirt, dainty patent leather shoes and a bow-tie, and Abby self-consciously smooths down the front of her damp tracksuit. She didn't want to leave mud all over the lobby, so she has two fingers hooked in the backs of her sneakers, but even barefoot she's still a head taller than Dr Dobson.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr Dobson,” Abby says.

“Call me Betsy,” the woman smiles. It's a hard-won smile, the kind that has taken years to wash the grit of daily life out of the lines on her face, but somehow, on Betsy, it still looks fresh and sweet as spring water. Abby envies her for it. Most of her smiles are sad these days.

“Abby, then,” Abby introduces herself again. She's never much liked Abigail. Betsy nods and smiles more, and Abby holds out her hand for the umbrella and takes it out into the hall so it can dry a bit while David gives them the tour. The court is mostly still a construction site, but Abby can see it all so clearly already; the corridors aching to be filled with voices, the bleachers waiting to be set ablaze in orange and white.

David is arguing on the phone again when she comes back. The words are muffled through the half-closed door of his office, but Abby doesn't need to hear them to know what this is about.

“He won't budge about those shower stalls,” she tells Betsy, who has her hands demurely folded in front of her and a look of vague attentiveness on her face. Abby wonders if she's so used to being a blank canvas for her patients to draw on that this is now her default state, and winces in misplaced sympathy.

“I imagine the board isn't going to budge either,” Betsy points out softly, like someone used to stating unwanted truths. Abby's mouth pulls to the side.

“No,” she sighs, “but David is going to out-stubborn them anyway.”

“He seems the type,” Betsy says wryly, an almost conspiratorial twinkle in her eye. Abby can't help but feel hope bloom in her chest, inconvenient and warm, like a coffee stain on nice crisp table linen. She remembers Sunday dinners at home, decades ago. The tight stiffness of her collar against her throat, the weight of her mother's gaze. The smell of coffee and tobacco thick in the air.

She swallows it down. It would be nice to have someone as solid as Betsy on their side, but Abby knows how little is left at the end of a full day's work for people like her and Betsy and doesn't dare wish for something so audacious as a friend.

“I'm sure he'll be done any moment now,” Abby says into the damp silence of the empty lobby. “You must need to go back soon.”

Betsy merely shrugs, disturbing the smooth line of her coat. “I wanted to see it,” she admits softly. “I can see now why David is so passionate about it.”

Despite herself, Abby beams. It's an unfamiliar pull on her facial muscles, like the sun peeking out after a week of rain. God, she wishes spring would hurry up.

“It's beautiful,” she agrees. “I can't wait for it to be finished.”

Betsy regards her over the top of her glasses, then rummages in her pocket and takes out a handful of toffees wrapped in shiny gold foil. She absent-mindedly offers them to Abby but keeps patting down her pockets until she finds what she was really looking for, and hands over a simple white business card.

“I expect we'll be working closer together in the future,” she explains as Abby unwraps her toffee and pops it in her mouth. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Abby says, feeling her face heat a little. “I'm sort of – in-between business cards, at the moment, but I can write it down for you...”

She looks around at the empty lobby, then pads over to the room next to David's office, which is going to be hers once the equipment arrives. For now, there's only a desk and a single chair, a filing cabinet that is waiting for input, and a framed picture of her with her younger brother. Her fingers are itching to call him but they spoke on the phone last night and Abby was going to try and be less of an overbearing older sister this year.

David is done by the time she has found some paper and a pen, and she rushes out to join them and hand the sad, crumpled little note with her phone number over to Betsy, who takes it like it's something of worth and tucks it into her breast pocket with a smile.

“Ready?” David asks, rubbing his hands together, and it feels like he's asking about more than just a tour of the half-finished Foxhole Court.

Abby and Betsy nod in unison: ready or not, the future is taking shape right in front of their eyes, and Abby is glad she has two people by her side to face whatever it's going to bring.


End file.
